41. Oscailte

forty-one

Once parked, Diego and Milla were ordered to stay out of the way as the Enforcers set up camp. Eight-foot tall tents were pitched, a kitchen area set up under a canopy, and a workstation, complete with a wireless hotspot and a technomantically powered generator, was up and running in record time.

Milla spent the time witch-watching, noting the outfits worn by attending covens. The Steampunk Wastelander aesthetic was most prevalent—worn leathers, boots, goggles, frayed vests, tank tops, and silver facepaint shiny and chrome. But there was a strong showing of the Fleetwood Mac crowd, mostly young women in Boho-chic dresses and knee-high leather pirate boots, with floppy felt hats and long, flowing hair. A neon presence was speckled in and among the leather and beige, bright, cheerful rompers, cat ears, furry boots in electric hues, nipple pasties, and shorts that were closer to underwear than anything else.

One look at her mesh-panel cut-out yoga pants and Siouxsie and the Banshees crop top told Milla she was woefully underdressed.

“Here.” Diego tugged her into a tent by the elbow, directing Milla to the pile of bags and parcels in the corner. He handed her a tightly packed bag and swiveled his wrist, summoning Milla’s chunky-heeled, knee-high boots from her closet at home. “You are being presented to all of witchdom as a Death Witch today; I want you to look the part.”

Milla clutched the bag to her chest, at an absolute loss for words. “Diego …”

“Not now.” He handed her the boots. “Later, when all of this is finished. You are my peque?a bruja, and te adoro. Even if you do drive me mad.” He grabbed a few more parcels and made to leave, stopping at the tent’s entrance. “Oh, and whenever you are complimented, tell them I am the master behind the craft.”

Milla hugged the parcel and boots tighter, wishing it was Diego. He might not be ready to talk about, well, everything , but this was his way of saying he would be. Later, as he said, when this was all over. “I will.”

“Bien. Now get dressed.” He stepped through the flaps, then popped his head back in. “And whatever it is you and Darkly have planned, let me know if I can help.”

The outfit Diego had designed for Milla landed squarely between Boho-chic and Wasteland:

A black bandeau top and low-slung, high-cut compression shorts, a gauzy scrap of deep red fabric fashioned into a skirt she tied at the hip, and a leather belt embossed with skulls, athames, and intricate whorls dangling with gold coins. Her dreamcatcher and amethyst necklace was replaced for the day by a long silver chain affixed with the curved blade of a pocket boline knife, a finger bone that she hoped was fake and knew at a touch was not, and a silver pentagram.

It was an absolute nightmare, and she adored it.

She tugged her stacked-heel boots over knee-high black stockings and wound thin leather straps affixed to the topmost eye holes around her leg, tying them off as bows on her upper thighs.

Rai had entered the other half of the tent to get dressed and called through the divider as Milla unfurled a long black macramé vest that finished her outfit. “You decent?”

“Yeah.” She slid her arms into the vest, swiveling and walking in a circle to get a feel for the garment. Diego had worked embroidered skulls and bones into the design, and when she walked, the ends billowed menacingly behind her.

The zipper sang, and Rai let out a low, admiring whistle. “Holy Horned God, Lady Death.”

Milla glanced over to grin at her, doing a double-take as the vinefica stepped fully into view, hooking the last of the enclosures on a green satin bodice. Paired with shiny black shorts, fishnets, and matching green combat boots, Rai looked more serpentine and deadly than usual. “Me? You look like the ringleader of an underground hand-to-hex death match.”

“I know.” She shimmied her hips and flipped a long sheet of glossy hair over her shoulder. “Your Diego is a wonder; I love it. Here, let me.” Milla held still as Rai reached for her head, freeing the braids she had wound and bound while her hair was still damp.

Gentle fingers worked the waves free, fluffing Milla’s bangs before Rai plucked a tube of lipstick out of the air. She pulled the cap off to reveal the deep, decadent, Cabernet-red hue and handed it over. “Fatal Kiss, perfect for you.”

“Thanks.” Milla took the tube and applied the lipstick, half wondering if she’d just entered into some sort of fae bargain.

“My pleasure.” Rai sauntered past in her boots and held the tent flap wide open. “You’d better come along before Lou has a fit.”

Milla followed her out of the tent, making it all of two steps before she was stopped in her tracks by six feet and change of half-dressed Do Not Fuck With standing under the canopy.

Like Milla, Darkly had been dressed to represent his Way and role. But where she was intended to present as a Death Witch, his was a mix—the tactical, multi-pocketed Enforcer blacks hung low on his hips and clung to his legs, and he’d traded the C.R.O.W. issue boots for a well-worn pair. In place of the tight woven belt was a simple length of treated leather knotted in a Celtic loop at his hip, drawing attention to the v of muscle disappearing below his waist. With no shirt on—and, really, was that necessary?—the triskelion was half obscured by a tartan scarf lazily wrapped around his neck and shoulders, made of the same flannel Milla had seen Diego struggling with a few days earlier.

To finish the look, he had cleaned up the neckline of his stubble, leaving the perfect amount of shadowy beard to highlight his sharp jaw and ludicrous cheekbones. And Diego must have attacked him with clippers because his fuzzily regrown hair was now a sleek, faded mohawk.

“Oh, Horned God,” Milla said on a lusty exhale, thrilling at the sight.

Darkly looked up from the printout in his hand and hit her with the Dark Darkly grin. He turned toward her, and a thin slip of shadow was revealed, twining around his left arm in a lazy helix. The final effect was striking, and Milla just about died.

He prowled closer, eyeing Milla like a hungry predator, and stopped mere inches away, taking in every bit of her not-very-modest clothing. Running a knuckle across her bare stomach, just above the line of her belt, the Dark Darkly smile sharpened as goosebumps rose at his touch. Milla swayed, her pulse quickening as her body responded to his nearness, his caress. He repeated the track, this time adding a brush of Shade, and she shivered, struggling to hold his hungry gaze. He hooked a finger in her belt to tug Milla forward, erasing the inches between them.

“I both love and loathe that lipstick,” he said in a low, rumbling voice.

“Why?”

“Because it makes me want to kiss you.” Smoke wafted in his eyes, and Milla lifted on her toes, bringing her mouth within easy reach. “And when I do, everyone’s gonnae know.”

Lifting her chin, Milla pursed her lips slightly, pleased when his tongue darted out to wet his. “Is that a problem?”

“Nae,” he whispered. “The only problem is I willnae stop at the kissing.”

Moths winged madly in her belly, sending jitters into her lungs and dancing down to her fingertips. His hands clamped around her hips, keeping Milla raised on her toes. She let a wicked smile bloom. “Then why stop?”

Darkly’s fingers at her hips pressed harder, and he leaned closer. “Ah, leannán .”

“?Oh por Diosa! Look at you both!” Diego stepped out of the other tent, delightedly clapping his hands. Milla jerked back, Darkly’s hold the only thing keeping her from toppling over.

“Impeccable timing, Diego,” Rai said, applauding him in a light golf clap. “Spared us all.”

Diego bowed in a flourish, straightening and giving Milla a good look at his chosen outfit. She could only describe it as Pirate Chic. Black leather pants hung almost as low on his hips as Darkly wore his, though these were a bit baggy in the crotch, too tight in the rear, and featured off-center gold buttons embossed with a Spanish Rose. Knee-high suede boots with an overlarge cuff complimented the breeches, along with a maroon and gold unbuttoned vest embroidered with black roses and far more belts than were necessary.

On his stomach, chest, and arms, the Stitch Witch had applied a vast amount of glittery sheen to mimic a sea salt spray. The overall effect was striking, a Conquistador Out of Time, and it pleased Milla to the tips of her toes to see Diego de Gregorio Bimini in all his glory.

“Lady Death and the Living Shade.” Diego clasped his hands together and sighed. “Que encantadora.”

“The covens are in for quite a show,” Tobias rumbled, following Diego out of the tent. In brown pants and his Red Wing boots, the spalování shrugged on a worn, heavy brown leather coat that dropped to his mid-thigh and boasted an overly large fur collar, an obscene amount of buckles, and deep pockets.

“Then let’s get this farce started.” Lou strode over, dressed in her Enforcer blacks and a fitted tanktop crackling with anti-hex magick. She handed out papers to each witch, speaking quickly. “Donmar is scoping out the campground Ludmilla identified. Keir”—Darkly straightened to attention, the sultry witch was gone in an instant and replaced by a soldier. “Be ready; if Donmar sees an opportunity, you will need to sidestep immediately.”

“Understood.” He nodded, jaw hard.

“We have until dusk to sweep the grounds and gain any intel. Check-in with the covens I’ve identified; each has at least one witch working for a subsidiary of Erlich Industries.” Her eyes flitted to Milla as she said this, and Lou gave her a tight, terse nod. Acknowledgement for making the connection and giving them a heading. “Blend in, be as covert as possible. Do not draw undue attention to yourselves. Except for you two.”

She faced Milla and Darkly, barely suppressing her disapproval of their outfits. “I suppose it’s for the best you look the part,” Lou muttered. “Be seen. Mingle, and make yourselves the point of conversation to allow Toby and Rai the space to work. If Constance’s lackeys have done their jobs, the rumors will swirl about a Death Witch and a Dark Witch at Beltane. Confirm them.” At that, she gestured for Milla’s wrists. When she hesitated, Lou huffed impatiently. “The Elder Witches you meet today will expect to feel a hint of your Way.” Pressing down on the sigils branding her wrists, Lou tugged Milla closer and whispered, “Do not make me regret this.”

“I won’t.” When Lou did nothing, Milla added, “Stick to the flower trick, right?”

“Right.” She pressed harder, a gleam building in her eyes. “If we’ve done our jobs, you should not be a threat, even with access to your Way. Come running to me if even the slightest thing around you begins to rot.” Milla nodded, mouth pressed firmly shut. “ Oscailte. ”

Darkly steadied her by the shoulders as the unbinding hit. The weight on her wrists fell away, and warmth flooded her palms, climbing up her arms. He hummed dreamily, and magick pressed against her shoulders, cool and calming. Bolstering Milla without responding to the call of her magick. Not yet.

Curling her hands into fists, she closed her eyes, relishing the feel of his magick, the heavy crackle in the air, and her own Way pulsing happily in her veins.

“Too much?” Darkly murmured. Milla opened her eyes, locking gazes with Lou.

“Not at all.”